


Steve Knight: Paranormal Investigator

by RussellEppLeppel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Detective Noir, Detectives, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 01:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17930384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussellEppLeppel/pseuds/RussellEppLeppel
Summary: Steve Knight is a human, which makes him somewhat abnormal in a city of elves, trolls, and wood nymphs. He doesn’t let this affect his job as a police detective however. This may all change though when a close friend mysteriously disappears and things suddenly become personal. To make matters worse, the city is under threat from an unknown but powerful new enemy no one’s encountered before. Can Knight find his companion before it’s too late and solve his biggest case yet, or will the sheer scale of it all bring him down, and the city along with him?





	1. Serious Sorcery

_"down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. … The story is his adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. He has a range of awareness that startles you, but it belongs to him by right, because it belongs to the world he lives in. If there were enough like him, I think the world would be a very safe place to live in, and yet not too dull to be worth living in."_  
-Raymond Chandler, The Simple Art of Murder

#  Friday 

# Serious Sorcery

It was a grey evening following a sunny day. I walked into the Elfstar Pub and sat at the bar, where I was just as at home as the tip jar. Some people say I have a problem with alcohol. What they don’t understand is that I’ve got plenty of problems, and alcohol goes well with all of them. Although it was a Friday night, there was only a handful of patrons at the Elfstar. It was still early. The place was quiet and the lights were low. There was lots of dark hardwoods and leather upholstery, lending the establishment a sense of class and quiet dignity. On the whole, it was a lovely place to be if you don’t like people.  
“Good evening Rosie. I didn’t know you worked Friday nights.” Rosie was a wood nymph who had taken up tending bar because wood nymph-ing didn’t pay as well as it used to, that is to say, it didn’t pay at all. She’d moved here about a year ago, and the two hour commute out to the woods was the clincher to find a job closer to the mean streets of the city. As the old elvish saying goes though, the city is made brighter by her presence. In her eyes there was a friendliness that was neither sycophantic nor naïve, and her smile lit up a room.  
“I don’t normally.” She said. “Jeff and I swapped shifts this week so he could go to some metal concert.”  
“Well I’ll just say I’m glad I got you tonight and not that troll.” She blushed, in a way. She had skin the colour of new leaves and curls as dark and green as the stormy sea. She had a petite frame.  
“The usual?” She asked.  
“Please.”  
“How was work?” She asked while pouring.  
“I got called out to the east end to take a gander at some bones.”  
“Bones?” She placed the tumbler in front of me.  
“Yeah, a small horde of skeleton archers had seized the Valkyrie subway station.”  
“They stop them?”  
“Yeah. They had to call in a favour with a retired member of the discontinued clerics’ division. He cast one mass dispel magic spell and they fell apart like houses of cards.”  
“So it wasn’t a curse?”  
“If it was a curse he would have cast remove curse. No, this was the work of a necromancer, and a decently powerful one at that.”  
“I don’t believe it. Magic’s dead.” She said dismissively.  
“I don’t know; it’s making a comeback.”  
“That’s what they said about disco.” She said. “No one uses magic anymore.”  
“You use magic.”  
“I’m a nymph. Magic is what we do.” She said defensively. “Besides that’s just charms and cantrips and stuff. Reanimating the dead is serious sorcery.” She paused. “You didn’t say what you were there for though.”  
“I told you, looking at the bones. Forensics.”  
“Find anything good?”  
“Something odd.” I said. “They had flaming arrows.”  
“What’s odd about that?” She asked.  
“Have you ever used a flaming arrow? As a weapon, it’s as pointless as a dull pencil.” I told her. “What’s more, the skeleton archers must have taken up the bow posthumously.”  
“What?”  
“Well there was no permanent twisting of the spine or deformation of the shoulder blades caused by the musculature that would indicate a lifetime of heavy bow usage.” I explained.  
“Well that’s no surprise. No one’s used a bow as a weapon in battle for centuries.”  
“So the question is why are they using them now?”  
“You tell me, Mr. detective.” She prodded. She was toying with me like a sly cat toys with a ball of yarn.  
“To say for sure I need the facts, and there aren’t many.” I said. “I shouldn’t be giving out the police blotter.”  
“That’s fine.” She said.  
“How are those art classes going?” I asked, changing the subject to something a little less shadowy.  
“Oh, well enough.” She said. “I’m itching to be done with trees though.”  
“Homesick?”  
“No, mine just keep coming out wonky.”  
“Oh, well best of luck there.” I said. “I’d love to see your paintings sometime.”  
“I’m afraid you really wouldn’t.” She chuckled. I’m not one to describe things as cute, but there are few other words which can accurately describe her laugh. Sometimes she’d even snort a little, causing her to blush.  
“So, you got any plans for Sunday’s lunar eclipse?”  
“Oh yeah, me and some girlfriends from the coven are gonna get skyclad and dance around in a ring under the full moon.” I nearly choked on my drink at the thought.  
“Really?” I asked in disbelief.  
“Yeah, we get trashed on mead and sing too.” She said, smiling. “Oh, speaking of rings, I thought of one for the Mental Mystery game this morning!”  
“Let’s hear it then.” I coaxed. It was a joy to see her mind in action.  
“Would a gorgon with a ring of invisibility be less powerful or more?” She asked.  
“Easy, more.” I said. “She could just take it off if she wanted to petrify someone.”  
“Nope. Curse of binding. Irremovable.” She said, shaking her head.  
“Then why would she put it on?” I asked.  
“Maybe she was tricked.”  
“Oh, well uh…” I paused for thought. “Hmm, you’ve got me stumped.”  
“Add one for Rosie!” She cheered.  
“What’s that then, 35 to 27?” I asked.  
“Thirtyfive, twentyeight.” She said, glowing like an 80 Watt electric-phial. The she looked at me quietly. “You seem really tired. This one wasn’t nearly as hard as giving a cerberus split-brain surgery.”  
“I am tired. These past few weeks have been rougher than a gravel driveway.”  
“I say take tomorrow off. Just stay home and don’t do anything.” She told me.  
“What am I, Jewish?”  
“You are Jewish.” She said.  
“I’m only Jew-ish.” I clarified. “But that’s not the point.”  
“The point is, you keep working yourself to the bone like this, pretty soon people are gonna start mistaking you for one of those skeletons.”  
“Thanks for the concern, but I’ll take my chances.” I donned my coat and lucky fedora, paid, tipped, and left.


	2. The Events of Saturday Morning

#  Saturday

# The Events of Saturday Morning

I took the usual Hellhound bus from my tiny apartment to work. My mind was busy trying to untangle our mystery of the skeletons. A thousands thoughts buzzed around inside my skull like flies on a lich as I tried to remember if we’d had any past cases involving necromancy. I arrived at my stop and disembarked. I turned my collar up against the wind and rain and walked the final block to the station. It was the kind of wind that just blew straight through your coat like a sieve. I imagine even the girls up on the corners of 49th in Norton were bundled up today. My walk was as dull as the dark grey clouds that hung low over the city, as if they could barely support their own weight. The station grew larger in my vision as I approached until it loomed over me, as black and imposing as a fortress from a bygone age. The lampposts on either side of the stoop stood rigid, two guards ever at attention flanking the front gates. My arrival was met with a surprise though.  
No sooner had I reached the front steps than a massive fireball the size of the Sahara exploded in front of me, blowing the station to kindling and cobblestones. It threw me into the street like last week’s leftovers. As I hit the asphalt, a searing pain shot through my right shoulder. I regained some of my senses, enough to get out of the road, and I noted that my shoulder was certainly dislocated. Still, I decided to start searching through the rubble for survivors once I’d retrieved my hat that was tumbling in the wind. I helped rescue two of our fey officers, Ross and Digby, when Chief Rotstein dug his way out behind me. Being a dwarf, such an act was second nature to him. He was only a little dirty and bled from a small cut on his forehead, likely where a piece of ceiling had fallen on him.  
“Knight! Good to see you’re okay and helping out.” He spoke in his usual voice louder than a freight train trying to shout down a thunder storm. He shooed away another officer trying to treat his head wound. “Have you found any others? And why are you holding your arm like that?”  
“I’ve dislocated my shoulder, sir.”  
“Hmm. You’ll want to get that taken care of.” He said.  
“Thanks for that advice.” I said.  
“You get to the ER and have them pop that back in for you. The boys here will help dig out. I’ll call back some patrol officers to comb the place area for whoever did this, and bring in the gals from chemical analysis to find evidence of the bomb.” He looked at my face for a moment. “You just worry about you. We’ll handle this.” He gave me a good-natured slug on the arm.  
“Ow, ow, shoulder!”  
“Right, sorry.”  
“That’s very comforting.” I said dryly.

I went down to the hospital as he said, and they shot me full of morphine and patched me up in a jiffy. You really can’t do any better than elvish medicine. I think they also gave me some holy moly, but the drugs had me loopier than crazy straw. I was put in a sling, given a bottle of painkillers, and sent on my way. They told me to go take it easy when they released me. I was in and out so fast I still had most of the morning to work. On second thought, three people in the past twelve hours had told me to take some time off, and had I listened the first time I wouldn’t be a sling, so I made up my mind to quit there.  
Still, the explosion had questions coming down on me with the morning rain. The two things I really right needed were a clue and drink. I decided to look for the second one. I don’t usually drink before lunch, but on the other hand I don’t usually have a building blow up in my face before lunch either, so I headed back to the the Elfstar. I could ponder the bombing over a stiff drink and a harsh I-told-you-so. Rosie could provide both in abundance. Getting there though I found Jeff working instead.  
“Morning Jeff. How was the concert?”  
“Killah. How’dya know I was there?” He raised a pierced eyebrow.  
“Rosie told me, but to be honest I’d forgotten until I saw you working, and remembered that you traded shifts.”  
“Naw, Rosie just never showed, so I’m on emergency coverage.”  
“She just didn’t show up with no warning? That doesn’t sound like her.” Jeff looked at me and shrugged.  
“Usual?” He asked.  
“No, I think I’m going to swing by Rosie’s, see if she’s okay.”  
“‘Kay, seeya.”  
I headed out with my windbreaker draped over my bad shoulder. I was looking for Rosie, but something told me I’d only find trouble. I hate it when I’m right. Rosie only lived a few blocks from the Elfstar, so I walked it in around ten minutes and held down the buzzer. No answer. I buzzed the landlady, explained the situation, and she let me in. I knocked on Rosie’s door loudly and waited. No reply, so I banged again. Still no answer, so I went back downstairs and knocked on the landlady’s door. She answered quickly. She was an elderly elf, with a face like a contour map and stood shorter than a line for a free root canal. She looked like everyone’s grandmother.  
“Good morning. I’m Detective Knight, and I’m looking into Rosie’s absence.” I went to reach for a handshake, but was snagged by the sling. I held out my left hand instead. The landlady took notice.  
“Oh my, what did you do to your shoulder?”  
“Nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine.”  
“Nonsense, let me make you a cup of elven healing tea.” I tried to decline, but she insisted.  
“Oh that’s not necessary. I was just going to ask if you could let me into Rosie’s.”  
“Of course Detective. Let me just grab the key and I’ll put the kettle on.” She seemed like a sweet enough old lady, but I could tell she was tough as nails to the core, the way old dames like her always are.  
After being let in I found that Rosie kept a very tidy place. The carpet was vacuumed, all the dishes were stored away, and photos of family members (I presume) were squared neatly against a painting of a small cabin in a stand of wonky trees. That’s why I found it odd that her word-a-day calendar was still on Friday. The word on the page was chthonic, but the word on my mind was ‘suspicious.’ Feeling a draft, I ventured to the bedroom, where I spied an open window. I snooped around for signs of forced entry, and the carpet squished under my foot like a bag of wet laundry. The whole area under the window was swampy as a hag’s summer home. The window did not look forced. The carpet had probably gotten soaked in last night’s rain, but surely if Rosie had been home she would have closed the window. The logical conclusion stared me in the face like a love-struck basilisk: Rosie never made it home last night. I closed the window for her and left. I stopped by the landlady once more to let her know I was headed off, and she presented me with a steaming cup of tea that smelled like an entire fruit stand squeezed into one tiny cup. I drank some out of courtesy, even though I really didn’t need or want any. It was so sweet I could feel my fillings falling out. Cloying, I believe is the word.  
“My that’s…” I started.  
“Too hot?” She asked, concerned.  
“No, just sweeter than I usually take it.” Politeness does not come easy to me, but I could not bear to swallow another sip of this any more than I could the venomous quills of a sea urchin.  
“Oh I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth with her hand, reddening slightly. “I just keep bees on the roof. The honey’s so fresh.”  
“Don’t worry about it.” I said. I lifted the cup to my lips and faked a short sip.  
“Did you find anything in the flat?” She asked.  
“Nothing really.” I said. “Just hunches and guesses.”  
“Was there a break in? Should I change the locks?” She asked nervously.  
“That won’t be necessary ma’am. I don’t think Rosie made it home last night. Nothing more.”  
“Well I may change them just to be safe. I’ve got a great locksmith. He’s so quick and polite.” She produced a business card from a ceramic dish by the door and handed it to me.  
“William Rotstein? I think this is my boss’s brother!” I announced.  
“Hang on to it. I’ve got a few.” She said. I thanked her and gave her back my tea. She dumped it out, and she stared at the leaves in the bottom like she’d found a diamond in a bucket of coal. The colour drained from her already pale face, and she turned whiter than a porcelain doll.  
“The raven! This is the sign of death!” She gasped.  
“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m looking at a reanimation case. Maybe you’re holding it upside down.” I joked. I never really believed tasseography, or much of anything else for that matter. I’m just a normal, ordinary guy trying to get by in this extraordinary world.  
“This isn’t revealing the present.” She cautioned. “This is predicting the future.”  
“Well, people say I work myself to death, but I’ll try to prevent any deaths that might come up.” I told her nonchalantly.  
“Heed this warning.” She said sternly. “The tea never lies!” I thanked her again and left. Given how close Rosie lived to her job, I decided to begin my sleuthing there.  
In my mind, Rosie was now a missing person investigation. I’d had plenty of of those over the years, including my very first case. I thought back to it: a kidnapping in ‘73.  
…  
It was a bad week in bad month, and everyone was in a bad mood. It was hot then, blistering. Not like the freezing wind and relentless rain today. You could cook an egg on the sidewalk, but only if you could stomach to eat off the filthiest table in the world. The heat wasn’t the only thing rising though. Tensions were high. Even the friendliest people were getting grouchy, and no one could blame them. People were being rushed to a hospital every day from heat stroke, and it was beginning to look like the wave wouldn’t pass until someone had died… and that’s exactly what happened.  
…  
It didn’t take long to get to the pub; it never takes me very long. It felt like the entire walk had gone by in the blink of an eye, sped along by my memories. Entering the Elfstar, I approached Jeff again.  
“Back for that drink?” He asked.  
“No, I’m here on business this time. I’d like to look at your security video from Rosie’s shift last night.” I’ve been in the business of solving crimes so long that I began to suspect the worst. Maybe someone saw me talking to Rosie and assumed she was a mole for the fuzz. I wanted to know exactly who was in the pub then.  
“I don’t got permission to give ya that.” Jeff said. “Only the boss got that, an’ he’s outta town ‘til Monday.”  
“This can’t wait. Rosie may be in danger.”  
“Well the video’s locked in his office, and I ain’t got the key.” He said.  
“Take me to the office.” Jeff led me to the back, and I stood there, staring at the locked office door. I braced myself, and I swung back and kicked it open. I probably shouldn’t have done that, I admit, but Rosie may have been in danger and I was a little worried. More than a little actually.  
“You broked the door!” Jeff exclaimed, stating the obvious.  
“I know a great locksmith. He can probably repair this before your boss gets back on Monday. He’s so quick and polite.” I reached into my coat pocket and handed him William Rotstein’s business card. He took it and headed back to the bar. I walked into the room and sat at the desk. I woke up the computer and began to sift through the video. I found three patrons at the time I of my visit: a dwarf, a kobold, and an arborean. I took pictures of their faces and emailed them to the station. Then I took out my cell phone and called the chief.  
“Chief Rotstein, it’s Knight. I just sent in pictures of three suspects in a possible kidnapping case. Can you check in the system to see if any of them are on file?”  
“In case you forgot, we’re still recovering from a bombing this morning. We’re having a bitch of a time too. Forensics can’t find a shred of evidence.”  
“Can you just spare one officer to put on this?” I heard him sigh loudly on the other end.  
“Fine. One person, but only because I know if I don’t you’ll do it yourself, and I want you getting some R&R.”  
“Thank you sir.”  
“For my sake, what are we looking for?” He sighed.  
“A dwarf, a kobold, and an arborean.”  
“Probably the kobold. Those bastards aren’t to be trusted.”  
“Chief, you’re profiling.” I said flatly.  
“It’s not profiling if he’s already a suspect.” He grumbled.  
“Even suspects are innocent until proven guilty.” I reminded him.  
“I’ll find your people. You just rest.” He hung up. I saved the entire night’s video to a flash drive, printed out headshots of the three patrons, and closed the computer.


	3. The Search for Suspects

# The Search for Suspects

I went back out to the front and slid the page in front of Jeff, who was wiping out a glass.   
“Recognise any of these people?” I asked.  
“Her.” He pointed to the arborean.  
“How do you know her?”  
“She’s a regular.” He shrugged.  
“Where can I find her?”  
“Table four.” He pointed over my shoulder, and sure enough, there she was, a tree lady with a sizable bosom. In my peripheral I saw Jeff spit in the glass and keep wiping. My shoulder was beginning to ache again, so I decided to take a painkiller.   
“Can I get a glass of water?” I asked. “Preferably not that glass.” He poured me a low-ball full of water. “I’m going to go question her.”  
“When ya do, can ya put in a good word for me?” He grinned, his short tusks on display. I rolled my eyes and went to table four.  
“Hello. I’m Steve Knight.” I sat down.  
“Katy Baum.” She said. “I’ll just tell you: humans aren’t my type.”   
“Oh, I’m not here for that. I’m actually investigating the disappearance of Rosie. Can you tell me what you were doing last night?”  
“Are you saying I’m a suspect?”  
“Yes.” I said, my demeanor more wooden than hers, ironically. “Please answer the question.”  
“Okay, I was out dancing at The Pixie Dust Club with my girlfriends.”  
“May I call one of them to verify that?”  
“Becca.” She gave me her number, and I dialed my cell phone.  
“Becca!” I said jovially, faking familiarity. “I’m a friend of Katy! She was just telling me a crazy story all about last night. Did the two of you really go on a midnight roadtrip all the way out to Sand Hill just for dragon burgers?” I waited on her reply. “Oh my god, that lying bitch!” I faked a laugh. “Later girl!” I hung up and nodded to her. “Your story checks out.”  
“Told you!” She said, exasperated that I accused her of being a liar to her friend. I headed back to the bar and spoke with Jeff.  
“She doesn’t know squat about Rosie, and if you prefer ‘real’ women stay away from her.” I knew it wasn’t her big perky personality Jeff was attracted to. “She’s about as natural as the silk tree on my desk.” I suddenly remembered that my fake plant was now buried under a tonne of bricks.   
“Huh?” He said, scratching his scalp.  
“She’s got obvious implants.”   
“Watcha mean?”  
“When was the last time you saw a tree wet-nursing a sapling?” I tossed my lucky fedora back on and left.   
…   
My first case was a real doozy, a tangled-mess that made the Gordian knot look like an elegant gift bow. Solving it was like trying to untangle a fishing line. Every time I thought I had solved a piece of it, I only made it more tangled. Captain-of-industry Baron Hightower’s four year old daughter Emily had been kidnapped one evening after day care. Naturally, the police first spoke with the last person to see Emily Hightower, or Baby Emily as the papers quickly took to calling her. He was the supervisor at her daycare center. He was cooperative enough, and he provided us with several promising leads. It seemed then that we’d have no trouble smoking out her abductor, if the whole damn city didn’t catch fire first.  
…   
For due diligence I went to The Pixie Dust Club, and asked to see their video after explaining my case. Sure enough, Katy arrived before the end of Rosie’s shift and didn’t leave until hours later, and when she did she was in no condition to kidnap anyone. She gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘lush greenery’ though. As that lead went dead, I felt my hip buzz, an incoming call from the station.  
“Knight, good news!” The Chief spoke loudly. “That dwarf you sent? He stayed at the Elfstar until closing time, then we picked him up. He was in the drunk tank all night. Couldn’t be your man.”  
“Well I just ruled out the tree lady, so did you find anything on the Kobold?”  
“Yeah, and I told you so. He’s got a file!” The Chief practically shouted. He was always loudest when he was feeling triumphant.  
“What’s his history?” I asked.  
“Two counts of gambling and a possession charge.”  
“Victimless crimes. He doesn’t sound like the kind for kidnapping.”  
“Maybe not, but you can’t trust a kobold. Just watch your back out there.” The Chief cautioned me.  
“Saying things like that’s going to get you in serious trouble one of these days.” I warned.  
“Maybe, but I sent that officer out to the Kobold’s residence to question him, just to be thorough.”   
“Finally your prejudice proves useful.” I jibed. “But I appreciate what you’re doing for me, especially with how busy this bombing must have you. How is that case going by the way?”  
“Lousy! I’m out here in the pouring rain, and chemicals team can’t find a trace of any explosives. Evidence just doesn’t magically disappear!” He complained.  
“Hang on, you may be onto something.” I said.  
“The evidence magically disappeared?” He asked, befuddled.  
“No, and quite frankly sir that’s ridiculous.”  
“Do you think I’m an idiot Knight?” He bellowed, now growing testy.  
“What? No!” I said. “Not at all.”  
“Harumph.” He muttered. “I wish I married you instead of the hag in my house.” The Chief was on his third marriage, and it was already over bar the shouting. “What’re you getting at?”  
“If there’s no evidence of a bomb, maybe the explosion was a spell. We could be dealing with a pyromancer.” I deduced.  
“Great!” He yelled sarcastically. “First a necromancer now a fire mage. Any other magicians wanna crawl outta the woodwork!? Is there a convention in town no one told me about? Last time I checked I wasn’t Police Chief of Las Vegas!”  
“Calm down sir. Your officers need you to keep a cool head.”  
“Sorry Knight, but all this magic’s got my blood in a boil. A bad dwarven trait.”  
“Best of luck on your case.” I wished him.  
“Yours too Knight.”  
It was getting late, and the sun was going down faster than a snitch being lit up with a couple of choppers. With all three leads gone colder than the bitter night, I decided to go back home. My own apartment made Rosie’s look luxurious. I have two small rooms, a three quarter bath, half a kitchen, and a bed that I keep cleverly disguised a sofa. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to the walls better than the ancient wallpaper, and the rain that leaks through the ceiling falls straight through the cracks in the floor. Every night I fall asleep to the sound of scurrying rats (the building’s only permanent residents), and every morning I wake up to the three bullet holes in the ceiling. When I first moved in I didn’t even know if I had rodents or a poltergeist. I wasn’t sure whether to call an exorcist or an exterminator. Still, the rent is cheap and… well the rent is cheap. At least no one comes around just to visit. I had a light dinner and a quick shower, then stretched out on the couch for the night.


	4. Puzzle Pieces

#  Sunday

# Puzzle Pieces

I woke late the next morning. Once I was up though, I looked over the video again, just in case I missed something earlier. After I left the Elfstar, a little while passed, then the kobold went over and talked to Katy for a bit. She checked her phone, then left him there. He left shortly thereafter. The dwarf continued to drink quietly in his booth. I was ready to close the video and re-examine the kobold when suddenly, just before closing time, a man in a scarlet button-up shirt came in and began talking to Rosie. I’d met the manager, but this wasn’t him. I didn’t know who this was. I zoomed in on his face. The picture quality didn’t improve, but the resolution was high enough to make out some of the detail. Suddenly my phone rang again.  
“Hello, Knight speaking.”  
“Steve Knight? This is officer Surtrsson. The chief sent me to question a kobold about a kidnapping.” A woman said.  
“Let me guess. He didn’t know anything and his alibi checks out.”  
“Yeah, how’d you know?” She seemed surprised.  
“His record doesn’t say kidnapper, and I believe I’ve found our suspect.”  
“Glad to hear it. I’m going back to the station.” She said, a bit put out.  
“Appreciate what you’ve done.” I said. I hung up and went back to examining the suspect. He was completely unremarkable, a very plain looking man. What did catch my attention though was an odd looking pin on his collar. I did some Googling, and after an hour of exhaustive dead ends, I finally found my answer. It was the crest of an ancient guild of pyromancers. According to Wiccapedia, the guild had dissolved over a decade ago, though its members were on occasion still active. There was no information on anyone who looked like this man though, so I went to the kitchen to pour myself that drink I never had. It was that drink that caused my epiphany. If this was the pyromancer behind the station explosion, why would he care what I said to Rosie the previous night about some skeletons over a drink? I ran to my phone and called the station.  
“Chief! I’ve got a breakthrough!”  
“What is it Knight!” He sounded excited. “Is it about the kidnapping or the bombing?”  
“Both! And the skeleton archers!” I exclaimed breathlessly.  
“What!?”  
“I believe the same sorcerer is responsible for both attacks, and kidnapped Rosie because she knew too much about the archers.”  
“That brilliant Knight, but who the Hell is Rosie?”  
“She’s our kidnapping victim.” I may have forgotten to mention that.  
“Fine, whatever. I should ask: why bomb the station?”   
“Did you do any work on the skeleton case since the bombing?” I asked. There was a long pause.  
“...Sonuvabitch.”  
“He’s trying to distract you from the real case. I’m willing to bet something big is about to happen real soon, and he can’t risk us discovering what it is.”  
“I’ll get every officer on this pronto. Do you know anything else that might help?”  
“I can send you his picture and the name of his ex-guild.” I offered.  
“Do it.”  
“But I have two pressing thoughts. Pyromancy and Necromancy are different schools of magic. To have powerful spells in both means he’s a master sorcerer.”  
“We’ll have to be cautious. What was the other point you had?”  
“He clearly thought what Rosie knew was important enough to keep her from talking, but all she knew was that there was a decently powerful sorcerer. Surely that’s no secret.”  
“Hmm, Our cleric friend is in today. Maybe he can lend us an insight on the value and power of this sorcery.” The chief mused. “I’ll see if he’s available.”   
“Good idea.” I said. “At this point, I’d like to officially declare Rosie a missing person and have her bank account traced.”  
“Knight, we don’t have the manpower.” The Chief sighed.  
“Well what if we consider her as evidence in the bombing case?” There came a long pause from the other end, and I could tell the chief was weighing the decision.  
“Very well, but I can’t guarantee timeliness.” He finally said.  
“Hello?” Another voice came through the phone. It was the cleric’s.  
“Hey, It’s Detective Knight. I was wondering if you could help me identify a certain pyromancer’s guild.”  
“Yeah, Rotstein told me.” He said. “I haven’t heard of that guild in a long time though.”  
“What have you heard?” I asked.  
“Well there’s a guild, it used to be huge in the seventies, called the Eternal Flame.” He started. “In the mid-eighties though a small faction within the guild splintered off. This is the guild your pyromancer is from. They were a group of extremists, and they worshipped a supreme being called The Arbiter of Flame. They believed one day he would come from his realm, the plane of Hellfire, to ours, judge our world and cleanse our sins away in a cataclysmic ball of fire.”  
“They sound like a group of madmen and idiots.” I said.  
“Well they’re a cult, so yeah.” I could practically hear him rolling his eyes over the phone.  
“Where are, or were, they headquartered?” I asked. The cleric sucked air through his teeth.  
“Oh, uuuuuh, their temple was on the corner of Dante and...Vulcan? I think?” He said. I thanked him and headed out. I was going to poke around the temple and see just what I could turn up.


	5. Missing Pieces

# Missing Pieces

Before I left, I retrieved my gun from its safe. I’m a man of few words, and sometimes I have to let my gun do the talking. My gun only knows one very loud word, but I find it’s often all I need. I didn’t expect any trouble, but I was still seeking a splinter cell of extremist fire mages. I wasn’t going to take chances. I had a problem though; with my right arm in the sling, I couldn’t draw from my shoulder holster. Frustrated with life’s nuisances, I stowed the pistol in my coat pocket and went to the bus stop. I caught the Hellhound bus to the upper east side. As I rode, my thoughts drifted back to the summer of ‘73.   
…   
Even the weeds in the sidewalk cracks were shriveling up and dying. Although the daycare supervisor had given us half a dozen names to contact, they were all dead-ends. Not that we discovered any of that until after working through labyrinths of middlemen and questionable witnesses. The newspapers were sweating us for progress on Baby Emily. Sweat was something we didn’t want any more of. We contacted the supervisor again, just to see if he had anything else left to offer us now that we were back to square one. Well, we tried to contact him. It turns out he had disappeared without a trace shortly after our first meeting. Some people think he was rubbed out by the kidnapper to keep him silent as the grave. Other people thought he was the kidnapper, and that he deliberately threw us down the wrong paths to buy himself some time to escape. We never did find him or an answer to those theories. Which one do I personally think was the truth? Well let’s just say I’ve always been a cynic, and I may have changed my mind about his involvement in retrospect.   
…   
I watched the street signs as they passed by though the thick sheets of rain outside the window: Lewis, Barfield, Cecil, Green, Fox, Williams, John, Christopher, Dante. I thanked the driver for the ride and disembarked. As the bus drove off, I saw a discouraging sight. The temple was no longer there. It had been torn down, and now in its place stood a Hob-Gobblin’, a chain fast food joint. Argh! This was as disheartening as investigating the Tezcatlipoca temple. I kicked a rock down the sidewalk in frustration. Every time I thought I had a lead, it went cold. I remembered my drink was still sitting on the counter in my apartment, so I decided to head off and get a drink. The Elfstar was too far to walk in the pouring rain, so I decided to see what was in the area.  
A few blocks away, I found a decent-enough looking place, The Wyrd Sisters’ Witches’ Brewery. I shrugged my shoulders and went in, finding a stool and setting my lucky hat down at the bar. It was immediately obvious the place was excited for the eclipse. The menu even had a special limited time drink called a ‘bloody moon’. I was never a huge fan of tomato though, so I picked another interesting looking beverage from the menu, a poison apple hard cider. I handed the menu back and picked up a newspaper a previous patron had left behind.   
The front page was dedicated to a story about the skeleton archers, but there was nothing about them the paper could tell me that I didn’t already know. I turned to the inside and began to read the titles. New Study by College of Physicians Questions Medicinal Efficacy of ‘True Love’s First Kiss’ on Patients in P.V.S. Interesting enough but I had no hope of understanding the medical jargon peppered through the columns. The next story was simply entitled Which Witch? Apparently, two people had independently promised their first born to separate witches, but now they had a child together, and the witches were locked in a custody battle for the newborn. I shook my head with disappointment at the state of things. Two strangers were fighting for possession of other people’s child while the orphanages are filled to the ceiling, packed like shrieking little sardines. What a mad world this is.   
My thoughts were interrupted as a witch placed my drink down in front of me. I sighed and looked across the bar as I took my drink. The stool next to me was unoccupied, and there was an empty gin bottle on the counter in front of it. I reached out and picked it up. I rubbed it on my lapel and blew air over its open mouth making a hollow whooshing noise. Suddenly, a swarthy figure rushed out of it in a cloud of smoke. I placed the bottle back in its spot on the bar.   
“Knight.” The genie said bitterly.  
“Sam,” I greeted him. “How have you been?”  
“Same shit, different day.” He answered, taking my drink and quickly downing it before ordering another for himself. “You?”  
“I need a miracle.” I looked at him earnestly.  
“Hey, I don’t do wishes!” He threw his hands up. “I’m off duty.”  
“You’ve been off-duty since you crawled into that bottle six years ago.” I said.  
“I’ll put it in a way you can understand mortal.” He said hotly. “I’m retired.”  
“And how’s retirement treating you?”  
“Oh I was enjoying it up until a minute ago.” He sneered.  
“What’s it like to have infinite cosmic power, capable of doing anything you want, and not wanting to do anything?”   
“I want to have a quiet drink.” He scoffed.   
“Look Sami, you have to help me.” I said, dropping my confrontational tone.   
“Make me.” He challenged.  
“I wish-” I began.  
“Oh don’t say it!” He clapped his hands over his ears.  
“I wish I knew where Rosie was.” I said.  
“Somewhere secure. Somewhere hard to find.” He said unhelpfully.  
“But how do I find her?” I pressed.  
“Do some damn detective work!” He snapped at me.  
“That’s what I’ve been doing!” I said with exasperation. “I’m at a dead end.”  
“Then try magic.” He spoke with agitation.  
“That’s why I asked you! Why do you think I came to you!?”  
“I meant common, practical magic.”  
“Is that really the best you can do?” I asked bitterly.  
“It’s free advice.” He said. “You get what you pay for.”  
“I paid for your drink.” I pointed out. He sighed, he dipped his finger in his drink, then stuck it in his mouth, getting it properly slobbery. Then he pulled it out and jabbed it in my ear.  
”Oh, gross!” I shouted and tried to squirm away, but I suddenly had a vision. Images flashed quickly before my eyes: an umbrella, an open window, a large wad of cash, a strange symbol I didn’t recognise, and a thick wooded area. “Whoa. I had...visions, Sam. What do they mean?”  
“Pff, Hell if I know.” I don’t even know what the images were.”   
“Well there was a window and some money and…” I trailed off. Sam made it painfully obvious he was no longer listening.   
“Well Knight, I had a lovely time.” He said, turning to me. “But this wasn’t it.” And with that he returned to a cloud of smoke and funneled back into his bottle. Sam was only reliable in the sense that I could rely on him to do as he pleased. Occasionally in the past our goals overlapped, and that was great while it lasted, but I was on my own again on a whim. I lifted the bottle up, ready to smash it on the counter and draw him back out, but just at that moment my phone rang.   
“Knight.” I answered.  
“Knight,” said the Chief. “Good news; I’ve got Rosie’s bank statement.”  
“Yes?” I said excitedly.  
“Well, it’s just a string of normal purchases, groceries, utilities, Abra kacetera, but then the night she went missing there was a huge withdraw from an ATM, and then nothing since then.”  
“Do you think whoever abducted her may have stolen her card and drained her account?” I asked.  
“It’s certainly a possibility,” The Chief said. “And unless they try to make another transaction with it, I think that’ll be the last clue her account leaves.”   
“Thanks Chief.” I said. Out of better options, I decided to return to the scene of the crime: Rosie’s apartment.   
One Hellhound ride and forty minutes later, the rain had subsided somewhat and I stood in front of her building. I reached to buzz in, but noticed the door was ajar. I let myself in and investigated the lock. Someone had jammed a piece of cardboard in the latch, preventing it from closing fully. At the time I thought nothing of it. People do this sort of thing in apartments all the time if they’re expecting guests or moving furniture. Anything that involves a lot of going in and out. I made my way up the back stairs, and down the corridor to Rosie’s room. I stopped still in my tracks outside it though, frozen in place like a careless basilisk trainer. The door had been kicked in. I rushed inside, and it looked like a tornado had torn through. Everything was scattered about the floor, and in a general state of disarray. Either she had a psychotic decorator or someone had ransacked the place in a hurry. But why though? Who raids a person’s home after abducting them? Maybe they wanted something from Rosie, but she didn’t have it on her, so now they were searching here?  
After alerting the landlady to the intrusion, I returned to the room. I slowly picked through her belongings, not looking for anything in particular. I didn’t find anything of real interest either. I mean, I found nothing interesting, but what I did find interesting was what I didn’t find, having found nothing; there was an umbrella stand by the door, but it was empty. I only noticed this unusual but otherwise uninteresting fact because my mind suddenly flashed back to my vision of the umbrella. Where was Rosie’s umbrella, if not in the stand? I know she had one, otherwise why have an umbrella stand? The missing item was nowhere in her apartment. Did the intruder ransack her flat for the umbrella? Why tear through everything though? Presumably it would be in the stand next to the door, not stashed under the mattress or buried in the closet somewhere. Actually, now there was a thought. I returned to poking around in Rosie’s closet, and I didn’t find exactly what I thought wouldn’t be there: a raincoat. No raincoat and no umbrella.   
It had rained the night that Rosie disappeared, and every night since then, but not until hours after the Elfstar closed. Maybe Rosie is the kind of person to carry around an umbrella just in case (I wouldn’t put it past the fastidious nymph), but a raincoat as well seems excessive, especially on such a sunny day. The solution to my missing person’s case seemed to hang on the question ‘who abducts someone, then breaks into their home and turns it upside-down just to steal wet weather supplies?’ Maybe this was just an unrelated burglary, conducted by an ordinary thief who might have noticed the tenant’s suspicious absence...An ordinary thief who steals umbrellas.   
I pushed such a silly thought from my head and departed. I left through the front door, for there was no rear exit, and walked around to the back of the building to catch the bus heading home. As I passed by the back alley though, I glanced down it out of commonplace curiosity and saw Rosie’s window from the outside. Suddenly I had another flashback, the window this time. My vision of the umbrella had proven useless, but perhaps this could be of more use. The vision certainly seemed more connected to the case than that of the umbrella.  
I walked into the alley, carefully avoiding the puddles and bags of garbage. I looked up at Rosie’s window, alone in the middle of the wall. Her neighbours had windows on either side, but there was nothing else around like a drainpipe or fire escape that an intruder could have used to gain entry. That’s probably why the door had been kicked in. What about Friday night though? If Rosie made it home, her kidnapper may have been waiting after sneaking through the open window. Did they bring a ladder? I sighed and looked down in thought. I realized then that I was standing in the middle of a large puddle of solid mud. Something about it didn’t seem right. There was a set of footprints in it starting near me and walking out towards the street. I walked out, following the prints to the edge of the alley where the mud stopped. I looked down the street both ways, hoping to spy a trail or even just a muddy shoe print. Nothing. Whatever trail the perp had left had washed away in all the rain since then. I turned around a retraced the steps back to their source. I reached the first pair of deep prints, and I suddenly realized why they struck me as odd as a three dollar bill. These footprints didn’t start anywhere. The original pair began in the center of the puddle and moved outwards. Barring the ridiculous idea of a backwards-walking umbrella burglar, someone had jumped down from the building into this puddle and left the alley. This allowed me to realize another source of my unease regarding these prints. They were made by very small feet, but the space between the steps was large, as though made by someone with long legs, and the prints, especially the first pair, were deep, as though the person was also very heavy. There was another plausible explanation though: whoever left these prints was running. Their stride would be longer than proportional, and they’d strike the ground harder, sinking deep in the mud. The first set was so deep because whoever made them had jumped from on high, striking with considerable force distributed over only a small area and sinking in.   
The story was unfolding in my head faster than a bookie’s ledger. Rosie had made it home Friday night, but she left in the wee hours of the morning. It was raining, so she wore her coat and took her umbrella with her. She snuck out the window, jumping, and wasn’t able to close it behind her. She landed in the mud puddle in the alley, and ran out to the street. Now I entertained a thought I had not previously considered: Rosie hadn’t been abducted; she had run away. New questions formed as old ones withered to make way like dying flowers. Why had she run? And from whom?


	6. The Huntsman

#  Monday

# The Huntsman

On Monday I decided the next place I should look in my pursuit of Rosie should be her last known location: the ATM on Stoker Street. Rosie had a good choice of bank, one whose employees were as thorough as she was. They were vampires. While I wish to avoid generalization, it can safely be said most if not all vampires are predisposed to counting and are extremely scrupulous where numbers are concerned, making them ideal to handle money. The station even keeps one, Vaclav, on retainer as a forensic accountant.  
I now stood exactly where Rosie, or whoever possessed her card, had stood on that dark and stormy night. It was just as stormy now, and only slightly less dark. Perhaps there was some proximate magic about this location, for as I stared down at the chromed plastic keypad and flickering LED screen, I was visited by a third vision: the wad of cash, only now this time I saw that the hand clutching it was of a light green complexion, seafoam. There could be no doubt in my mind that Rosie had been the one to withdraw the money. I mulled this over and my eyes began to wander. They settled on the tiny fisheye camera and text at the top of the ATM: “THIS MACHINE IS MONITORED BY ARGUS SURVEILLANCE SYSTEMS.” I smirked, considering the company’s unfortunate acronym. I stared at the camera, and it stared back at me. This gave me an idea. The ATM was in the alleyway on the side of the building. I went to the front of the building, and sure enough the bank had a camera pointed out towards the street. If Rosie left by Stoker street, they’d have her on camera. Next I ran to the far end and looked down the back street. There wasn’t much, but there was a beer distributor’s back door, guarded by another security camera, which had an unobscured view of the entire street. If Rosie left the alley through the back she’d be recorded as well. Eager to follow her potential trail, I jogged down the street, keeping my eyes peeled for more cameras. I may just be able to follow her entire route starting from the Bank if there were enough cameras.   
I was so busy looking for surveillance systems that I didn’t watch where I was going. I backed up into the street, not taking my eyes off the last camera, when a Hellhound bus came around the corner and blindsided me. I fell to the pavement, head spinning like a top and pain shooting out from my right shoulder. I blinked a few times to clear the stars from my sight and looked up. I had to do a double take. First I saw the front of the bus for a split second, followed by a white flash, then what I can only presume was another vision: the strange symbol this time, only now I recognized the symbol quite clearly. It was the Hellhound bus logo, but upside down. 

I traveled to the Hellhound local office with hopes of getting the security footage from their buses. After three days I was getting antsy. Rosie must have been in serious danger to flee her home, and so right now she needed my protection. I was in no mood to wait. You can see how relations quickly soured as the representative was less than could be called cooperative.   
“Good evening, I’m Detective Knight with the police.” I introduced myself to the young man at the desk. “I need to look at your security footage from Friday night. A copy of it on a flashdrive would be best.” The clerk did not say anything. He just sort of looked at me and narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to suss me out. I rolled my eyes and flashed my badge with a sigh. He nodded slightly and I put my badge away.  
“Now can I come back into your records vault, or whatever you use?” I prodded.  
“I know my rights, man.” He finally spoke. Ugh, he was one of those people.  
“Look kid.” I said, “I don’t give a hydra’s hindquarters what you’ve done personally. I just need to get at your records for the buses.”  
“You got a warrant?” He asked defensively.  
“No, we’re in a hurry on this one.” I began to explain, trying to put aside my rapidly growing frustration.  
“Then you’re not allowed back here!” He blurted. “This is private property. You can’t just force your way in.”  
“Look, I’m not using force-” I tried to speak some sense into him.  
“If you want to access our records either I or my supervisor needs to invite you in.” He said, adjusting his glasses.  
“You’re thinking of vampires.” I told him.  
“Actually I’m thinking of a warrant.” He said. “So unless you can show me one, you’re not coming in.”  
“I told you I don’t have one!” I snapped.  
“Then you need to get one.” He sneered.  
“There’s no time!” I pleaded. “Rosie may be in grave danger!”  
“Oh she may be?” He rolled his eyes. “Well, let me know when I give a damn about some misplaced tavern girl.” This I am ashamed to admit struck a nerve.  
“Nice tie.” I said coldly.  
“Huh?” While he was momentarily confused, I seized his neck tie and yanked down, slamming his head into the hard plastic counter top.  
“Give me the video!” I bellowed. I tried to pull him close to me, but I lacked the physical strength, my dominant arm in a sling. He pulled away and retreated into the office where he called the police.


	7. Results and Consequences

#  Tuesday

# Results and Consequences

Monday’s investigation fizzled out with a whimper, not a bang, and Monday night unceremoniously transformed into Tuesday morning. Again, I slept in until the bleak rays of the mid-afternoon sun sliced through the clouds and struck me in the face. I rolled over and gazed out my window. It was raining again, like all the sylphs and seraphim decided to take a piss on the city at once. I awoke testily and carried on with my usual pursuits: thinking, drinking, moping. I looked out the narrow window onto a grey city beneath a grey sky. It’s days like this that make a man think to himself. As my mind wandered like a lost backpacker, my fingers fiddled with the blinds, flicking them open and closed throwing shadows across the room.  
…  
The venetian blinds in my office were shut tight, allowing through only thin slices of light and casting black shadows over my desk like rungs of a ladder, but they were more like prison bars. My tiny office was a jail cell. I felt trapped. I was fully ensnared by this case in my own mind. I sat at my desk running over the events around Baby Emily’s disappearance in my head as I fidgeted with the corner of my notes. I had taken them on a piece of Baron Hightower’s stationery during our first meeting at his house. At the top of the page was his personal heraldic seal: an argent tower on a sable field flanked by rampant giraffes. This served to remind me just who I was working for: someone you don’t want to disappoint. We had no leads, and the last person to see his daughter had dropped off the face of the Earth. There had to be something, some piece of evidence, some clue I had overlooked. This halt was maddening. Although I was perfectly still I could feel the sweat gathering on my brow and trickling down my cheek. I thought the heat wave would never end back then. Suddenly, an attorney burst into my office, and he was hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock. He was tall gaunt man, a full head taller than me, and he had a face like he’d constantly just smelled something acrid. Not surprising, given the filth he worked for on a daily basis.  
“What do you want DiLucro?” I said, already tired of the hatchet-faced weasel’s usual games before he’d opened his smirking mouth. You could count his redeeming qualities on one hand wearing a mitten.  
“I want to know why my client is being held like a common criminal!” He demanded. People in Hell want ice water.  
“Are you saying your client is an uncommon criminal?” I asked.  
“He is no criminal at all, common or otherwise.” DiLucro asserted.  
“I highly doubt that, considering that he chose you to represent him.”  
“My clients come to me because I’m the best there is, and smart people know that. Everyone is innocent is proven guilty, and I merely seek to preserve that-”  
“Save your breath, schmuck.” I said. “I don’t even know which client you’re referring to.”  
“Balthazar Brynaur.” He spoke.  
“Oh yes, the restricted artefacts trafficker! We caught him trying to sell unregistered magic items, a clear violation of the law. He figured he’d get a few hundred gold for each piece, but now he’s looking at a nickel, at least.”  
“Ha ha.” DiLucro said sardonically. “The only thing he’ll be looking at is a countersuit against the police department for violating his civil rights. Those ‘magic items’ were holy objects and therefore protected by his freedom of religion.”  
“Religion!?” I scoffed. “Are we talking about the same Balthazar Brynaur? He only believes in one thing: money.”  
“I can neither confirm nor deny such a statement about my client, but such a matter is wholly irrelevant. The purchase, possession, and sale of holy objects is a protected right of every citizen, regardless of that individual’s personal beliefs.”  
“Well, you can have this lengthy theological discussion on behalf of your client on Thursday...with Judge Wood.”  
“J-Judge Wood?” DiLucro stammered. Judge Tuhupuuku Standing Wood was famously tough on crime. The mere mention of the centaur’s name made criminals shake like dying leaves whose days on the branch were numbered. He would never suffer such legal loophole abuse. If Balthazar faced Judge Wood, he’d be in the slammer so fast he’d leave his shadow behind.  
“Listen up pointy ears.” I spoke sternly to DiLucro. “If you really want to keep your client out of the Big House, talk to Chief Rotstein. He has a very special limited time offer for your client. He’ll appreciate it, being a businessman himself.”  
“You’d dare present me with a plea bargain?” DiLucro hissed angrily.  
“Yes.” I said, grinning on the inside. “Unless you’d rather take your chances with the Iron Hoof of Justice.”  
“You watch your back, Knight.” He warned me. “One of these days, I’m going to make you regret this.”  
“And in the meantime I might just charge you with threatening an officer for that comment.”  
“Mark my words, you’ll pay!” He fumed.  
“Cash only, non-sequential bills. That is your preferred method, isn’t it?” I jibed.  
“I. Am not. A criminal!” He shouted.  
“No, you just work for some.” I said nonchalantly. “Now get out of my office before I have to call in the cleaning lady to get rid of the stench.”  
…  
My phone rang, pulling me out of my memories and back to the present day. I was being called down to the station. Once the remains were no longer considered evidence for a bombing, the process of rebuilding flew by. The station was reconstructed with magic and no small amount of physical labour by the giants that made up the riot squad. They were just putting the final shingles back on the roof as I arrived.  
Inside it was almost as if nothing had changed. People were milling about from station to station, running files on perps in records, looking into suspects in investigations, or maybe just getting another cup of Joe in the break room. I made my way to The Chief’s office through the maze of desks, some tidy and others spilling papers onto the gross brown carpet.  
Rotstein sat somberly behind his desk. I sat in front of him, drumming the fingers of my left hand on my knee. For a while we just stared at one another. Though we may have outwardly looked quite contrasting, we were not so very different, he and I. We’re both boomers, born in the wake of the second goblin crusade, and we grew up through the third one. By the time we arrived on the scene, the age of black & white morality had ended. We were raised in world painted with shades of grey, and now we’d become grey too.  
“Knight.” He finally spoke. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been my go-to ace detective for years, but you’re losing it.” He rubbed his eyes. “You can’t just play by your own rules.”  
“I don’t have time for protocol; this whole system’s holding me back!” I said, slamming my fist on his desk. “If I have to step on a few toes to get results, so be it!”  
“I can’t have a loose cannon out there.” He said assertively in his usual booming baritone. “That kind of behaviour embarasses the agency more than it does you.” He sighed and placed a flashdrive on his blotter.  
“What’s that?” I asked, hopeful.  
“It’s all Hellhound’s security footage since Friday afternoon.” He slid it across the desk to me, and I reached out to take it. He didn’t let go though.  
“The Hellhound clerk didn’t just call us. He called the mayor, and after cursing me out for half an hour, the mayor called for your resignation.”  
“Well you can tell that mummy to stuff my resignation where his Sun-God don’t shine.”  
“Knight, take this seriously.” He said sternly. “The only reason you’re still on the force is because I vouched for you. I told Mayor Khalfani you’re our best hope of stopping this necromancer, and I put my career on the line for you. Last time I checked, the name on your office door was Knight, not Seagal. You’re not above the law, and this isn’t some eighties action flick or a chiaroscuro noir.”  
“Brushing up on your language tapes?” I said snarkily.  
“You need to drop the power fantasy right now.” He fumed.  
“This isn’t a fantasy?” I said sarcastically.  
“No. It’s real _fickerei_ life.” He swore. “I want you to promise me you’re going to reign this behaviour in right quick.” His grip on the flashdrive showed no sign of loosening. “Khalfani’s got a rope under both our ears here.”  
“My word.” I said. He let go of the drive, and I returned to my home to watch the footage.  
I was up all night poring through the grainy black and white footage, but finally around four AM my hunt came to fruition. I was able to identify Rosie in her red raincoat boarding a northbound bus, and from there it was a simple matter to see where she got off and when. It wasn’t announced in the video. I had to count the number of stops from where she got on and consult a bus map. I next referred to a local area map and was filled with dread. She had travelled to the red light district, at the northernmost edge of the city.  
I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a nightcap as I pondered my next course of action. Her wad of cash meant I wouldn’t be tracking her purchases any time soon. I doubted asking around would prove terribly helpful. Trying to find one beautiful dame who didn’t want to be found in a neighborhood of succubi, nymphs, and vampires was looking like my impossible task. It would take a miracle. Or magic. Sam’s words began to echo in my ears following that thought. “Try magic. Common practical magic.” I am a human, a non-magical species, and I am not magically gifted like some others. Still, there are some things I could do even with my non-existent skills. I made a note on my end table before collapsing into my bed, falling fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The entirety of this work is available for kindle/ebooks at Amazon. To comply with AO3 guidelines, I cannot provide a link to the page here, but I can direct you to my Twitter, @purpleskull14. The link to my Amazon page is available there. Or Just Google my name, since it's the first result.


End file.
